


Bring Me That Horizon

by ignited



Category: CW Network RPF, Real Person Fiction, Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-29
Updated: 2009-01-28
Packaged: 2017-11-03 19:11:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 15,761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/384874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ignited/pseuds/ignited
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jensen lands a role in the fourth <i>Pirates of the Caribbean</i> movie, Jared decides to come along as his assistant. A summer getaway for a movie starring Johnny Depp: it's a great opportunity for Jared to get a little closer to his best friend, right? In fact, it would be a perfect plan if Jensen wasn't so bad at communicating.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a request by a wonderful anonymous person for [Sweet Charity](http://www.sweet-charity.net). I am so sorry that it's late, but I do hope that you enjoy it! A million thanks go out to the lovely **regala_electra** , **fourfreedoms** , and **memphis86** for the beta magic and handholding. Extra thanks go out to Reg for being amazing and putting up with my craziness. Poster art included at the end of the story.

—

The whole set is tense during the last week of shooting. Season four is set to go with a bang, _literally_. There is enough left over in the budget for a few explosions during Sam's massive showdown with Lilith. Fake blood, dirt, rocks, debris; the city street set is in ruins, and at either end is Sam and Dean, facing off against each other in a twist ending that'll have the fans howling.

It adds to the tension: not enough time for reshoots or multiple takes. Jared and Jensen can't slip out easy and clap each other on the back, say it's a good day and go for a beer after. It's a little hard to move in and out of character when the Winchesters are trying to kill each other, so the days pass long and slow, full of hard work.

Then it's over. There is a wrap party that Jared barely remembers getting through, too drunk for his own good. What he does remember is the sense of reassurance in the back of his mind that they'd be back in the fall, that the show has been renewed and they are doing well. Sometimes he feels nervous at the thought of upheaval—all the abrupt change that would happen when the show finally closes and people start drifting to the next job.

But they got through it, and they are going to do more of this.

This weekend marks the start of a long stretch of months of God knows what: rest, clubbing, and too many hours spent on XBOX and _Guitar Hero_.

Jared is sitting in a restaurant, checking his text messages. One is from Chad asking if Jared is back in L.A. yet. Jared can easily imagine the string of parties that Chad would drag him to if he says yes in response.

Except that might happen, because the next few weeks of Jared's life are shaped by the guy sitting across from him, almost hacking up his dinner as he coughs out, " _What_? Say that again?"

"Pirates are cool, man," Jared repeats, keeps his gaze low as he runs his thumb along the edge of his empty wine glass.

Jensen takes a long sip of his wine, clearing his throat. "That got anything to do with what you wanted to talk about?"

The dinner is steak, mashed potatoes. Vegetables. Wine. Rich, heavy food, smells that leave Jared sated, full. Jensen looks just as pleased as he bends over his food, bare arm bracing against the table. Curving his arm, as if protecting his meal from Jared's wandering fork.

It's only been a few days since they've wrapped and Jensen hasn't shaved, scruff looking auburn.

Jared spears a piece of steak off Jensen's plate with his fork, swallowing it before Jensen can feign protest. "What've you got lined up?"

"Thought we were gonna talk about your shit."

"Fuck you," Jared says lightly. "I've got nothing. Kinkade fell through—"

Jensen grunts. Doesn't say _I told you so_ , but Jared figures as he's paying for Jensen's dinner and Jensen seems to really enjoy his meal, maybe he's keeping quiet for a tasty and delicious reason. His steak looks _really_ good.

"And my sources—"

"You've got sources?" Jensen looks amused.

Jared nods. "IMDB is a reputable source."

"Everything on the internet is, sometimes, according to you."

"The internet brings me porn, YouTube, and ten year old model photos of you. Do not insult the blessing from heaven. _My_ sources tell me that the Y'Barbo part in the Pirates sequel is being recast. Stuart Townsend was let go. And they've got a short list of actors to step in to take over the part."

Jensen wipes his mouth with a napkin, putting it on the empty plate in front of him. "We talked about this. It's not gonna happen."

Jared snorts, leaning forward in his chair. "C'mon, man. Tell me it's not."

Jensen sighs. "It's a long shot. My agent wants me to do that _My Bloody Valentine_ sequel."

"Fuck the _My Bloody Valentine_ sequel. Do this instead. You're on the short list. They brought you up."

"Who are you, Nancy Drew?"

A crease forms between Jensen's eyebrows as he narrows his eyes, fine lines at the corners. He sits back and shifts his weight, frowning as though there is a bad taste in his mouth. His actions are a little restless under Jared's gaze, fidgeting for a few seconds as he mulls over his response. Jared downs the rest of his wine, a bitter gulp, Jensen's face blurry through the reflection of the glass before he puts it down.

Jensen stares at him an uncomfortably long time, a dark green gaze that slides over Jared's arms and chest, as if he's sizing him up. It's something he's unconscious of doing, the way he sometimes looks over, wrapped up in thought and making Jared almost flush under the heat of it.

"If it worked out and I got that part, you got any idea how long your liver will hold up once Chad gets a hold of you this week?" Jensen asks, almost wistful. He and Chad get along well enough, but there's differences in how they act around Jared. For all the times he and Jensen spend nose to nose and up in each other's space on set, Jensen almost sounds annoyed at the thought of Chad coming in and changing their dynamic.

"He can sweep me off my feet another time," Jared says, batting his eyelashes. Keeps his gaze focused right on a button of Jensen's black dress shirt, says, "I'm gonna wait it out. I've got some stuff to take care of. Some important decisions to make."

He lifts his gaze to meet Jensen's eyes for a second before he turns away, rubbing the back of his neck and saying, "Like if I'm gonna head out to San Antonio. Eat my parents out of house and home. Maybe do the tourist thing, you know, check out SeaWorld or some shit. Haven't been to Sea World since I was a kid."

Jensen puts his palms out, a gesture of weariness and surrender. "I'll see if I can try out for it. You don't need to read me the kicked puppy act."

Jared resists the urge to straighten up and _beam_ at him, his mood suddenly shifting into a happy sort of overdrive. "Great! I'm coming with you."

Now it's time for Jensen's mood to change, only his turns into surprise, eyes widening. "What? You're—what?"

"Pirates and Johnny Depp. Come on. I'd make an awesome assistant. I know how grouchy you are in the morning. I know everything about you."

Like how he takes his coffee and the way his freckles stand out harsh under the cool Vancouver morning light. How he isn't a morning person and how the soft hair on the nape of his neck stands on end as Jared tucks in his shirt label when Jensen's groggy. The way he gets when he's lost in thought, gaze looking through Jared like he's off in another world, mulling over his options.

Jensen thumbs the ring he wears. "If— _If_ I get it, Jared, you are not going to be my assistant. You can say you're my entourage of one."

"I gotta earn my keep. I'll make sure you don't screw this up."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence."

"Don't mention it."

 

—

It happens all too quickly.

That's the way the business works, Jared knows, and feels odd about it, how it turns into _business_ rather than career, job, _livelihood_. The facts, figures, and behind the scenes details are not his area of expertise—he knows enough of what's going on so he's not kept entirely out of the loop. But he knows just enough, so he won't go crazy either, mind circling back to past deals that fell through and roles that never materialized.

Jensen turns his phone off, claps his hands and rubs them together. "Pack your things."

"Now?"

"Nah, I gotta beat your ass first."

Jared smiles, looking up from his game of _Madden NFL_. He moves the couch pillow aside as Jensen slides into place next to him, picking up the extra controller.

 

—

They end up at the baggage claim at Nassau International Airport twenty minutes later than scheduled; Jensen, bearded, t-shirt with the label sticking out, and Jared, eyes puffy and his thin button down soaked through. They knock shoulders and elbows with the grace of the uncoordinated; the short layover in Dallas did not help at all. It has them mumbling about home, speaking in a drawl that was less Texan than it was unintelligible and sleepy.

The murky hues of blues and greys of the surroundings give way to the bright sunlight outside the airport terminal. The light threatens to burn Jared's tired retinas under his aviator shades as they make their way outside.

Brightness settles into a colorful focus, the warm breeze rustling through palm trees. Dozens of people are outside, all busy, getting into cars and carrying luggage. Off to the side there are people waiting for them specifically. Jensen nudges Jared in his side and nods in their direction, a smile on his face. Balancing his luggage, he manages to flip down his sunglasses, sweat on his forehead, hair sticking up in too many directions.

Sunlight sets off the dark reddish-brown of Jensen's scruff as he hands over his luggage to the people near the limo and held up sign marked 'Ackles'.

"Hey… They spelled your name right," Jared says.

"It's what happens when you have a normal name."

"Right, _Yinsen_ , I forgot," Jared says, a little too gleefully. Last summer, Jared had almost ducked out of _Iron Man_ in the theater to let Jensen know he finally knew how to pronounce Jensen's name. He may have run the joke into the ground but that hasn't stopped him.

"Okay, Pada-something, get in the limo."

Jared would say something but he kind of can't, not when Jensen's hand is low on his back, pushing on an ache that Jared didn't even realize he had. Got it despite sitting in business class, airline seats made for people under six feet.

A minute later, the limo is speeding away. Jared has to let out a laugh the moment they take off—it's always a little freaky, doing this. Getting driven to set every day is common routine: running lines as they eat food or drink coffee, talk, joke around. Getting driven to a _movie_ set is a whole other animal. Even after the few films he has done, there's a difference here and that's his co-star sitting next to him.

Jensen's hands curl into fists on his thighs, peering over the edge of his sunglasses and looking outside the window. The scenery is a blur of greens, whites, and blues as the limo moves past low buildings and the craggy rocks of the cliffs.

Face flushed, Jensen turns his head and grins at Jared, that kind of smile that has his eyes crinkling at the corners, another sight that Jared commits to memory, like all the colors and sounds of this new place, this new _treasure_ , being here.

"Look," Jensen says, and Jared does, eyes focused on the sharp curve of Jensen's cheekbone as he turns back to look out the window.

 

—

Before their luggage even hits the floor—and before Jared gets a look at the hotel shower, cool water beckoning—Jensen's cell goes off. His mouth sets into a thin line from concentration. A tight 'thanks' is offered as he covers the cell phone momentarily while Jared gives the bellhop a tip.

Jared watches him pace, toying with a loose string on the edge of his button down shirt. Dark stains mark Jensen's armpits and chest, signs that he forgot to calculate how humid it was going to be. Everything else though, Jared has got locked down, waiting for Jensen to finish his call as he rocks back and forth on his heels.

"That the producers?"

Jensen nods, opens his mouth before Jared cuts him off, pulling a day planner out of his carry on bag.

"You're scheduled to go in at twelve. Car's picking us up. Break for lunch at one, then after that you're off for sword training," Jared says, catching Jensen's stare. "You look like an idiot, you know."

Jensen clamps his mouth shut, rubbing the back of his neck. He starts to go through his clothes distractedly, as though he's avoiding Jared's gaze.

It doesn't throw Jared off, though, because he throws himself right on Jensen's bed, limbs spread wide and lazy, wrists nearly meeting the bed's edges in his sprawl.

"They spring for 800 thread count on your ass?" Jared asks, getting a grunt in return.

The sigh that Jensen lets out seems to make his whole body relax, tension leaving his shoulders as he says, "Thanks, man. Thanks for—thanks for this."

Jared raises his eyebrows, stretching back to rest his head on the pillow. He scratches at his nose, flush of heat streaking across his cheeks. It's the weather, he thinks, getting used to the burn on his face, adjusting. "Thank my urge to keep my liver intact."

 

—

Dog-eared and lined in yellow and green highlighter, the _Pirates 4_ script rests heavy in Jared's lap as he flips through the pages. The part that Jensen is playing is just as ridiculous as any decent part in a _Pirates of the Caribbean_ film. The outlandish story, action, and explosions take precedence over historical accuracy. Jensen's role is Antonio Y'Barbo, vaguely based off the real life mercenary, a San Antonian who robbed from the rich to benefit his own town. Like Zorro or Robin Hood, only here he's less mask or tights and a lot more prone to violence.

Production of the film is already starting, with the movie release lined up without any budging room. Jensen is not the lead here, and the way these things are, his character's back story might get ejected, but for now, he's got that motivation behind it. Rather than it being 'Mercenary #2', some life is behind the character's eyes, laid out in the producer's notes and Jensen's hurried handwriting in his script margins.

To take the part is to do it on a prayer, because Jensen doesn't know how large it'll be, and for all he knows, his scenes could be dropped and stuffed in between a blooper reel and cast commentary on the DVD. He tells Jared as much, but that did not stop him from preparing during the little time he had available prior to flying down. And as Jared can see, the preparation is paying off in the corded muscles of Jensen's arms as he twists and takes a step back on the glossy wood of the training room floor. So far, there isn't much call for sword fighting in the script for Jensen, but it doesn't hurt. His sneakers squeak a little as Jensen takes another lunge as he exchanges practiced blows with his sword.

More muscle, more than Jared had seen in months—on and off set, glimpses of that strip of tanned skin of Jensen's belly above his waistband. Ridges of abs are sharply defined, with narrow hips and sweat above his navel as Jensen pulls his shirt up, wipes his face with his collar.

His trainer, this real built guy named Kevin takes a sip of his water as Jensen wipes his face. "You did good today, Jensen. Work on your lunges. Don't wanna seem too eager."

"Thanks, man. Really appreciate it," Jensen responds, and it's genuine, even if he's out of breath and in need of a shower. Jensen claps the guy on the shoulder and walks over to Jared. He takes long strides in loose sweatpants, movement that has Jared envisioning the newly built muscle underneath. The thoughts vanish immediately when Jensen sits down right next to him, because the guy _does_ need a shower, and that pretty much kills any idea of fantasizing over your friend's legs and other more interesting parts.

Jared raises eyebrows. "That's right. You're gonna be fighting with Johnny Depp and you don't want to be too 'eager'. Gotta keep it up, if you get what I'm saying."

Ignoring him, Jensen stretches his arms, whacking Jared on the shoulder with his stupid bony elbow as he laces his fingers together. He full out stretches as Jared rubs his shoulder in mock pain.

"Keep it up with the 'lasting' jokes and you're not getting lunch," Jensen says.

"You don't feed me. That's crafts services. They're _obligated_."

"Yeah, well, I'm obligated to have a hissy fit and lock you in my dressing room," Jensen tosses off, sliding his gaze in Jared's direction.

"Our little Jenny's growing up into a real film diva," Jared responds, reaching over to pinch Jensen's cheek. He laughs when Jensen draws back, scowling. "If I had known it would take Johnny Fucking Depp for you whip out the big guns, I would have pushed you sooner."

"Keep on pushing. I'll tell craft services about your food allergies and that you're on a macrobiotic diet and can only eat steamed asparagus. Or seaweed."

Jared splays his hand over his chest exaggeratedly. "Surely you jest."

He's laughing as Jensen slaps him on his knee before he slowly rises to stand. Jensen's knees pop with the movement, slight furrow in his brow when Jared gets eye level next to him.

"Big day tomorrow."

"Yeah," Jensen murmurs distractedly, mouth pinching. He gives Jared a quick smile but there isn't time to dwell, because they're already moving again, a meeting in that maze of buildings and trailers that make up the set offices.

 

—

After that, a whirl of long days and longer nights follows, with Jensen going a hundred miles a minute and Jared not far behind. The first day on set, Jared makes sure Jensen wakes up to the smell of pancakes and sausages with a cup of strong black coffee. He sits nearby and idly watches the Weather Channel as Jensen puts his glasses on.

"Morning, sweetheart," Jared says cheerfully, not bothering to look up for Jensen's response. He gets a pillow thrown at his head a second later, before Jensen slips into the bathroom.

An hour later they are in Jensen's trailer and Jensen's crotch is eye level with Jared's face, grinding into it at intervals as Jensen mumbles a litany of "No's", over and over again.

But the bulge is still a _bulge_ , covered tight by fabric, dick secure behind tight costume trousers. Jared should not be this close to that bulge this early or, in general, _ever_. Naturally, the tight trouser clasps are stuck and Jensen's in need of a costume change, so it's his assistant to the rescue. He's not sure when emergency jimmying of trouser fastens came into the assistant's job description, but he did that _MacGyver_ pilot once. Maybe it's the universe's turn to fuck with his karma. Or his libido.

"Shut up and hold still," Jared says for the millionth time.

"Stop trying to pinch my dick," Jensen snaps.

"If it gets you out of your fucking pants, I'll do it," Jared retorts, voice a slur around the twisted bobby pin sticking out of the corner of his mouth. It turns out that bobby pins might unlock doors on TV, but they do not unlock replica antique fasteners in a jiffy. Jared rocks back on his haunches and braces himself, trying not to crash his face into the bulge that is Jensen's crotch.

Jensen keeps his gaze on the ceiling, mouth clamped shut as Jared tries to fumble with the fasteners. Instead of a zipper, there are buttons, metal clips, loops and whatever _else_. Jared just feels like taking a pair of scissors to the damn thing.

"Can't you—like, Jensen, can you, I don't know, _shimmy_ or something'?"

"I don't shimmy!" Jensen barks, jutting out his chin like an angry five year-old.

Jared takes the problem by the horns and stands up, fingers brushing Jensen's waistband.

Jensen swallows. His eyelashes are dark, rims of his eyelids smeared with makeup. His face is covered in heavy makeup—foundation, dark splotches of dirt, grazes of red and pink bruises, blood. Along with the extra muscle and beard, his hair has grown out a little, leading to messy spikes of hair falling against his sweaty brow. If it wasn't for the period wear—the ragged and dirty trousers, overcoat and boots—Jensen looks like the full tilt bad ass that Dean should look like, if the network wouldn't get angry over it. Let him be the hunter that Dean should look like, solid, muscled, scruffy and dirty.

And sweaty. Sweat that Jared nearly palms as his fingertips hover over Jensen's crotch, awkward as he tries to figure out _how_ to do this. His wrist brushes the dark trail of hair that leads into the waistline of Jensen's pants.

Jensen's hips jerk back, his voice gruff. "Think I know how to adjust myself."

"Wait, I got it." Jared's fingers dart and pull at the clasps, knuckles knocking into Jensen's own. It's then that he thinks, maybe, maybe Jensen should be doing this by himself, and that it might be bad to be staring pointedly at Jensen's bare belly, shirt pulled up over the tanned skin.

Jared could run fingertips over Jensen's stomach if he wasn't awkwardly trying to pull at Jensen's pants, each tug nearly sending Jensen's hips jerking up against him.

Jensen lowers his head, eyebrows shooting up as Jared glances at his face through the curtain of his bangs. "Can you—You got it?"

"Almost," Jared says, one two twist of his forefinger and thumb that unlocks the last fasten, a move that reminds him of the gleeful discovery of how to unhook a girl's bra in two seconds flat.

Except Jensen is not a girl. There is obvious evidence in front of Jared's face, as the now loose pants slide down Jensen's hips, stopping before revealing _all_ of Jensen, fabric snug around the bulge there.

So, it is really _great_ that there is a rap of knuckles against the trailer door, low mumble of conversation that lets them both know that it's _not_ an A.D. coming to yell at them to get back on set. It's the low and smooth voice of a man that Jared might've had a man crush on since he was ten. Jared was a very manly ten year old kid.

They exchange a look, Jensen's eyes bright and wide in that kid way of his, lips twitching like he's struggling to clamp down the giddy expression coming to his mouth.

"Just a minute!" Jensen yells, and boy if his voice doesn't sound like it's pitched two notches too high.

"We can finish this later," Jared suggests. "I mean your pants. Trousers. They call them trousers, don't they?"

Jensen makes this noise in the back of his throat, pulling up the loose trousers. He yanks at the loose shirt, trying to cover himself as an A.D. swings the door wide open.

Johnny scratches at his chin with his ring finger, blowing smoke over his own shoulder. "This a bad time?"

"No, no," Jensen says, sounding like he's about to break out into his creepy nervous laugh.

Somehow Jensen pulls it together, appearing calm, smiling that tight, shy smile of his. Johnny's cheeks hollow around his cigarette, eyes narrow as Jared comes up behind Jensen, cheeks flushed and flyaway hair.

"Jared, right?" Johnny says, offers his hand and Jared shakes it, trying not to gawk. His chest is eye level with Johnny. Jared stands a step above on the trailer edge. He feels Jensen knocking his shoulder against him, catching his eye and mouthing, "Be cool."

And Jared is, for a few seconds, before he takes a step down and blurts, "You were awesome in _Edward Scissorhands_. That was freaking _cool_ , all the, like, scissor—" He waggles his fingers into stabbing motions, seeing the tips of Jensen's ears turn red from the corner of his eye. "—fingers."

But Johnny doesn't bat an eyelash at Jared's actions. Instead, he flashes white and gold teeth, grinning. That becomes the sign that lets Jared know that this is going to be great.

"Yeah. I loved that," Johnny says, getting nudged by a girl in a ponytail standing next to him with a clipboard. He starts to head off, calling over his shoulder, "Jensen, I'll talk to you later about the interrogation scene revisions."

"Revisions?" Jensen says after a moment, like he's still trying to process what just happened. He looks over at Jared, who can't help but grin.

"Dude, Johnny Depp wants to _talk_ to you." Jared smacks Jensen on his arm. "Maybe some of his coolness will rub off on you."

Jensen shakes his head, stepping back into the trailer. "Ha, ha."

 

—

The mornings start early and groggy, feeling just like another day on set, only the open blue sky and clear water of Nassau fills in for the grey hued backdrop of Vancouver. After their morning run and exercise, they're off to makeup and costuming. Only Jared doesn't have to park himself in a chair and get fussed over. Instead he gets to crack jokes with the makeup artists and tell Jensen how he feels for him getting coated to cover up all those hideous imperfections he has.

"Too bad he's not a natural beauty," Jared says to the woman airbrushing Jensen's cheeks. She laughs, telling Jared she's seen worse.

"I'll get you back, dude," Jensen says. "When you least expect it."

"Bring it on," Jared says. "I know where you live."

After the first day, most of Jensen's scenes are done by the second unit. The plot of the film has something to do with the fountain of youth and the Bermuda Triangle. Jared's almost sure that the Loch Ness monster is somehow in there, too. It would explain that Thursday where Jensen spent most of the time waving a sword up angrily at a twenty foot backdrop of blue screen.

"You're looking awfully chipper," Jensen murmurs, wiping away a last bit of makeup after the set wraps for the day. " _Too_ chipper."

Jared peels away from the parking lot curb, forearm sunburned as he rests it against the warm car window edge. "Not all of us serious thespians have to threaten their imaginary sea monster friends."

"It's not a sea monster. It's a ghost ship," Jensen explains. "Antonio curses Barbossa for leaving him behind to die from the drowned dead. Or the pirate skeletons. One of those. It's all blue screen."

"Whatever, dude, you were doing some serious monologuing," Jared says as he makes a left turn. "You looked like Inigo Montoya. With the shirt, there."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Your face doesn't make any sense."

Jensen sighs. "You're a dick."

"Yeah, you love it," Jared tosses off affectionately, slapping Jensen on the thigh.

They reach a stoplight as Jared finally notices in the low static thrum of the local radio station: _sunshine and eighty-five degrees tomorrow, nineties for the rest of the week_. Easing back in his seat, Jared looks over at Jensen. Jensen's expression is hard to read: mouth set in a thin line and sunglasses pushed up snug against the bridge of his nose.

"So," Jared says, forces a little extra _oomph_ into his voice, smiling even if he feels tired from all the hard work. "The first week of filming your big budget Hollywood movie is done. What are you gonna do now?" His voice shifts by the end into an announcer's patter, _you've just won the Super Bowl!_. Jensen takes up the challenge, flash of white teeth set in a wistful twist of his mouth.

"I'm going to drink."

"No Disney World?"

"Nope," Jensen says slowly, resting his temple on the car window. "I have you."

Jared sucks in a breath sharply, attributing it to the jerk who tries to cut him off in traffic. He leans to get a better look, angle that has him reaching to hold the back of Jensen's headrest. It's as if that action presses a button, because Jensen mutters, "You're like a walking Disney cartoon as is."

Then he tries to fake a nap afterwards, but Jared has him shaking his head, embarrassed and amused, when Jared tries doing a Thumper impression. It's not great: it's lame, even Jared knows that, but the wheezing, content sigh Jensen makes when he slumps is a great reward all on its own.

 

—

Alcohol should make him loose, unwinding, clumsy and sweaty. He gets those symptoms just fine, liquid bitter on his tongue. Jared's mouth puckers and he squints when he waves towards himself, asking Jensen to "gimme that."

It _should_ be a lubricant, but when Jensen looks over at him, eyebrows up and glasses perched on the tip of his nose, Jared finds himself sitting up straighter, all the parts and pieces that have uncoiled in the past few hours have gone up tight again. Compact, even, which makes him annoyed with himself. Another point for why he should calm the fuck down and not get bent out of shape—it's _Jensen_ , his best friend, someone he should be right as fucking rain to be loose with.

Jensen shifts his hips and sits against the bed edge, legs wide open and fingertips light on the neck of his beer bottle, dark glass right in front of his crotch.

The lubricant is not working. In fact, Jared thinks he might be feeling the morning after already, only with a lot more queasy stomach than thudding headache.

His heart catches up with his nervousness a minute after Jensen hands over the script, skimming down the page. "This for Monday?"

"We shouldn't be talking shop now," Jensen groans, taking a pull of his beer. "It's the weekend. Remember that? Sleeping in? Cleaning up? Groceries?"

Jared stares at him, unable to help the way he opens his mouth in surprise. " _Groceries_. Maybe I should call you Gramps instead of Grizzly Adams."

"Shut up," Jensen grumbles, swipes his thumb and forefinger along his neatly trimmed mustache and beard. "I look _awesome_."

Jared lets out a laugh, and starts to get up to his feet, happy that the world doesn't blur too much at the edges. "How're you thinking about playing the Sparrow interrogation?"

Jensen seems to be weighing Jared's words in his head. He licks his lips; the tip of his tongue barely touches the scruff, the little goatee that makes him look older. Different.

"It's about dominance," Jensen says, gaze on a fixed point somewhere at knee level, past Jared's jean clad legs and right on the clear glass of the sliding doors behind him. The sky outside is inky black and heavy with humidity.

Jensen's staring at Jared's legs with an intensity that means he has to be tired as fuck.

Jared shrugs. "Tell me more."

"It's dominance," Jensen repeats, "and the choice Antonio has to make about the kind of man he wants to be."

Talking out a mercenary's issues is a hell of a lot different than what Jared's used to, the daily toil and angst of being a Winchester. Talking shop isn't even something they do off-set. But the week has taken its toll on Jensen if his quietness is anything to go by—there's no one for him to be shy around, if that's the case.

Nervous, maybe. Scared shitless, possibly.

He could also be in need of a good lay. It's an irrational thought that also comes to mind, because it's been at _least_ more than a week since Jared's seen—since Jared's asked—

 _Shit_ , Jared does _not_ need to be Jensen's assistant in every fucking capacity.

Nor does he need to think about his sleeping habits.

"I'll be Johnny," Jared blurts, clapping and rubbing his hands. Jensen smiles in amusement. "Shut up. I can make a good Depp."

Though it backs up his claim, Jared winces at how his coordination's slightly off, stumbling a little as Jensen takes another pull of his beer. He sighs heavily when Jared taps him at his side with his foot. "You gotta work with me here."

So Jensen does, albeit slowly, rocking back and forth on his heels once he stands. "Jack," he intones, voice going a little deeper, raspier, like his Dean voice. Couldn't help it, no matter if it fits the character and if Jensen's secretly _glad_ he can try and pull the bad ass persona when off set, he's anything but that.

"Don't turn this all on me," Jensen continues. "What will it be now, Jack? For a life on the sea eternal, I wager you'd sell your soul all over again. Or try to sell mine. You're mistaken if you think I'd ever shackle my fate to the likes of you."

He comes within a few steps of Jared, slouching enough that his stance is a little more wide legged than usual. He keeps the beer bottle close to his chest, head canted down and looking at a point somewhere near Jared's elbow. Avoiding Jared's eyes.

Jared shakes his head, rolling his script up in his hands. "That's shit and you know it, Jensen."

Jensen exhales sharply, licking his lips. "This—this feels too weird. I don't have to run lines with you now—I can just do it on Monday with Johnny at rehearsal."

"No harm in trying now, right?" Jared asks, hurried in his tone, clapping Jensen on his shoulder and squeezing him briefly. "We do this, you get the bad shit out of the way and you don't make an ass outta yourself with Johnny."

Jensen raises an eyebrow. "Dominance. Got it."

They spend a few minutes skimming the scene, and then after a long moment of standing there, tense, flush of alcohol running hot, Jared is ready.

His heart's this thrumming beat, jackhammer as he takes a step forward—and Jensen waits, eyes and mouth so open.

"I'm asking you what kind of man you see yourself as," Jared says, keeping his voice level, ignoring the urge to slip into a bad British accent, to bring in campiness. Humor is a defense mechanism that he would love to use right now, but he brings his voice down to cover up the unsteadiness in it.

Jensen waits, looking at him square in the eyes, pupils large in the low light of the room. There's still too much visible, like the soft wet of Jensen's mouth.

Jensen's voice sounds strained. "What sort of man is that?"

"Do you see yourself as a leader of one or a leader of many?" Jared asks, stepping closer, not eye to eye but getting there. When Jensen turns away, Jared grabs his forearm.

Bad move, because it throws Jensen off, inches closer all of a sudden. And that's how it will be when Jensen and Johnny do the scene, Jared knows. That is how it will be when Johnny steps in. He'll press up close like _this_ , right on Jensen's jaw line, breathing in Antonio's ear.

"Do you think you could lead me?" Jared asks.

"If the situation calls for it, yes. I could," Jensen tosses off, eyes darting up when Jared pulls back.

"One amongst many? Or just me."

"Just… Just you," Jensen says, too long of a pause for it to be comfortable, and the tension snaps, live wire as Jensen breaks away, taking another swallow. He's close enough that Jared can see his throat muscles work as the alcohol goes down. Hands up in the air, no longer holding Jensen, Jared sits down heavily on the faux antique chair in the room, right next to a side table, keys and papers, loose change and receipts.

"You'll be fine," Jared says, feels his mouth pull awkward when he smiles. "Great scene. Nailed it."

Jensen scratches his cheek, looking like he's about to say something, but he smiles wanly instead. After a moment, the bed dips under their shared weight as Jensen fumbles for the remote. Jared glances over at Jensen, looking at his gently snoring profile as the muffled sound of a crappy Sci-Fi channel movie plays in the background.

 

—

Monday morning starts early with the sky still red. Warm air soon blossoms into full humidity that stains Jared's t-shirt at the neck as he leans to get a better view. Today it is a scene on the ship deck, the only spot free of people is the small area marked in duct tape for Jensen and Johnny to do their scene.

With the sound guy, lighting assistants and various crew technicians, only the top of Jensen's head is visible, spiky and dark over baseball caps and bandanas of the crew. The only way to get a good look is to take a peek at one of the monitors, something easier said than done when he doesn't exactly have a working part here other than being 'assistant to Mr. Ackles'. The surrounding area is full of crew members, so Jared stands on tip toes near the ship wall—he would feel awkward moving any further in case his height would prevent any others from getting a view.

Then there is a small part in the crowd as they do another take. Verbinski says the last take was unusable because of wind hitting the microphones. Jensen doesn't look like he's nervous. The bad weather conditions and many layers of costume just leave Jensen focused and quiet. Jared thinks that's definitely another clue that Jensen is inhuman. Or a robot.

It's not like Jensen's _perfect_ though, since he had a long time in makeup with the assistants making sure his hangover didn't show. Said hangover consisted of leaving him fussy and irritable until Jared gave him a shot of caffeine with a large coffee from crafts services.

"You're a lifesaver," Jensen had said, tears in his eyes from thanks or because of falling into a dead sleep with his contacts on that night, Jared wasn't sure.

Jensen and Johnny fall into an easy rhythm when they rehearse, going through the blocking and talking low, exchanging glances to catch the other, make sure they're on the right track. They get the rehearsing over with faster than Jared would think, mind wandering when he can barely see them to begin with, slow rocking of the boat making him a little nauseated.

Jared catches snippets of conversation on the wind as they roll film. Johnny, no, _Jack_ saunters up to Jensen, fingers prodding along the curve of Jensen's chest and ribs. He snakes a hand down, past the threadbare shirt and worn duster, leather cord and a cross around his neck.

Johnny's at the "a leader of many" part when Jensen's eyes close a little. He's _into_ this scene, effortlessly. The take is almost perfect.

The scene goes off smoothly as the winds die down, only sound is the water that laps against the boat's sides. It's tense and it's close, and when Jensen exhales, mouth near Johnny's jaw, Verbinski calls out, "Cut! Great. Great work, guys."

They start repositioning for another angle, people carrying and moving equipment. Jared pitches in, a large box of cables that almost muffles his mouth as he says, "Good job!" in Jensen's direction. Jensen drinks his bottled water, giving Jared an awkward nod.

The same scene goes on without a hitch from another shot. Jared watches Jensen put a hand on Johnny's waist, a move he hadn't seen before.

Jensen had been restless and doing a bad job the night before. Here, he's freaking _Olivier_ , Jared thinks, pulling at his shirt, trying to unstick it from the small of his back. It's the middle of the afternoon and other than some Snickers bars, Jared hasn't eaten anything since breakfast. The rocking boat and low rumble in his stomach leave him feeling empty and mildly surprised at how Jensen seems to get through the scene without a hitch.

Jared and Jensen are shoulder to shoulder on the ride back to the shore. Johnny bobs up and down across from them as the motor boat rides out the short waves, sea spray and bangs in Johnny's eyes. He shouts something over the roar of the engine, finishes with a grin that has Jared smiling in return, although the corners of his mouth feel downturned and strained.

Jensen's leg accidentally knocks Johnny's calf as he shouts back with a loud, "What!"

"I said my yacht's in the bay—you two should come by!" Johnny repeats, shielding his eyes with one hand as he pulls on some sunglasses over the dark smudges on his eyes.

It's amazing how fast the water goes dark, white caps that lap against the boat sides, spray hitting Jared's bare arms.

Jensen nods, turning to Jared. "You have a good day?"

He slaps Jared on his thigh. His hand wraps fully around Jared's thigh and he keeps it there for a moment. It feels uncomfortable because his pants are like a second skin at this point, dark with sweat and water, Jensen's hand unbearably warm on his thigh.

"Yeah," Jared says, tension slowly easing away. "I did."

 

—

The next few mornings start out the same as always, only there's less nervousness. Jensen's hours on set shorten and he's less anxious about his role, sliding into Antonio the way he does with Dean. There's a relief visible in the set of Jensen's body, and Jared recognizes it: pride in a job well done. It looks good on Jensen.

That doesn't stop Jared from leaving a dead fish in Jensen's trailer though.

A laugh tears out of him when he runs past extras, civilians, pirates, the dead and drowned, with eyes wide as Jensen follows, scowling when Jared calls him Errol Flynn over his shoulder.

 

—

Jensen's in the props department one morning, saying around a mouthful of bagel, "Danneel called."

Jared runs his hands over the curve and coldness of the sword's grip, shaking his hair back. "Yeah?"

"Said she wanted to have dinner when we get back. I gotta check what day it is."

"It's a Friday night. I think. Or a Sunday. Maybe Monday?"

Jared's mouth feels a little dry as he keeps his gaze on the swords, trying to push down that need to look up and smile when he'd rather not be thinking about the future and everything _after_ this. It's too much to deal with.

Jensen doesn't pick up Jared's awkwardness. His eyes crinkle when he smiles at the prop master's assistant, taking his props for the day's scene: gun, compass, and spyglass. "Aren't assistants supposed to have a better handle on time frames?"

"Maybe. Let me check out my book, 'Assisting Dummies for Dummies.'" Jared opens his palms wide and turns invisible pages. The butt of the gun hits Jared lightly on his shoulder as Jensen scowls at him. "Oww."

They're grinning when one of the assistant directors runs in, Amanda, a woman in her mid thirties. She stops short and looks at the two of them.

"Jared, how tall are you?"

"Six, uh, six four," he says, getting a sidelong glance from Jensen, eyebrows shooting up as he pulls at his duster sleeves. "Almost five. Why?"

"We need a stand in for Antonio's lieutenant. He got seasick yesterday—real bad. Holed up in the hotel. And we're filming in twenty."

Jared rubs the back of his neck before he shrugs. "I can do it."

He barely gets the last word out when she's whisking him off to costumes, Jensen laughing behind him.

 

—

Jensen's fingertips are wet when he taps Jared on the arm, pointing towards the pilot. The pilot is a thin little man whose hair is windblown, wringing his captain hat as he kicks the boat's motor. It's tiny and Jared feels small, bobbing in a vast ocean of dark blue waters. A few boats are making their way back to the mainland after wrapping up this scene on an isolated stretch of beach and palm trees, a tiny little strip of land in the warm waters. But now it's nightfall, temperature dropping sharply.

The pilot is cursing up a storm, knocking the motor and pulling on the cord. Nothing. Jared hopes the guy doesn't turn out to have miraculous swimming skills and leave them alone in a tiny boat to get help. Because they do _not_ need to reenact _Splash_ , no matter how much Jared looks like he's up for the part.

It turns out the lieutenant he took the job over from happened to be one of the dead and drowned, meaning Jared had a fun filled time in makeup earlier. Not only did he manage to barely fit into the extra's costume, breeches and shirt tight against his muscles, but he had to get coated, no _slathered_ , in makeup to look the part of the drowned dead. Sea green foundation and dark shadow around his eyes make Jared feel like this awkward cross between a zombie and a merman. It doesn't help that he's wearing half pirate gear and half _barnacles_ , these weird scales and—and Jensen is staring at him, fingertips drumming a beat on his lips.

They are sitting in a broken boat, sweaty and sore as all hell, dressed like a pirate and a zombie. And they start to laugh.

"Too bad there aren't any sails," Jared says. "We could see if you've been paying any attention."

Jensen's brow knits. "It's called _acting_. I only pretend I know what I'm doing."

"Oh, that's right, I'm sorry," Jared says, as the pilot tries to check the engine. "I forgot how awesome you are at getting your ass stung by bees when you're taking the hands on approach."

Jensen kicks up a clump of wet sand and water with his boot, sending it toward Jared's legs when the three of them work to pull in the tiny boat to shore. Static pops from the pilot's tiny radio as the other boats start edging back in.

The second unit director, Mark, lifts his baseball cap and scratches his head. "Storm passing overhead. We'll wait it out 'til it goes."

 

—

Waiting turns out to be a tiny little camp fire, line of some equipment and boxes on shore as people stand with cell phones, shielding their eyes to peer at the rumbling clouds overhead. A line of orange and yellow remains on the horizon, clouds lighting up as thunder rumbles.

The air feels heavy and moist. Jared thinks the fire's going to go out in a minute, as he watches it for a little too long.

Geoffrey—and _he's_ great, really, _really_ great—brought a flask with him, and that could _definitely_ be why Jared knows exactly when the fire's going to go out.

"Jensen," he murmurs, nudging Jensen's thigh with his bare foot. The sand gets between his toes as he waves his boots in one hand, wild, other arm held out for balance. "Wake up."

Jensen's neck pops as he stretches, squinting up at Jared from his cross legged position. "We're going?"

"Nope." Jared falls heavily on the sand next to Jensen, smiling at how he grimaces, wiping sand off his trousers. "I'm bored. You're boring."

"We're on a fucking _island_. I have sand on my ass. Everywhere. _And_ you're drunk."

Jared leans back, wobbling as he does, gets a glimpse of Jensen's duster, how it's half pinned under his ass. He leans forward and states, "You don't have any sand on your ass."

"Why—" Jensen exhales, shifting a little. He says exasperatedly, " _Why_ are you looking at my ass?"

Dragging his hand and fingers over his mouth, Jared mumbles—okay, maybe he kinda says it too loud, but he _meant_ to mumble—"I always wanted Johnny Depp to take my ass virginity." That gets Jensen looking at him all wide eyed and mouth open, and Jared continues, nodding. "If I had to do that thing. With. With asses. You know how it is."

"No, I don't?"

He's warm and firm against Jared's shoulder, something good to rest on. Jared lets his knee brush and knock against Jensen's, grumbling when Jensen grabs his flask. "Hey, _hey_ —"

"Dude, stop. Hey. Stop it. What the fuck's up with you?"

Jared stays quiet, watching the water lap against the shore. "Nothing. I'm tired."

Any attempt to change the subject—or get up from his comfy position resting on Jensen—doesn't fly, because Jensen's sitting, waiting. "Something's bothering you."

"No big deal. The Johnny thing. Admitting you got a crush is like, not gonna make you revoke your hetero card, dude." Jared shrugs. "I had it. It's cool, man."

"I don't—" Jensen sighs. "It's not a crush, all right. Can't a guy get nervous?"

"Depends on how you're acting on it."

“Look, man, I'm dressed as a pirate fighting against the undead and trying to hold my own against Johnny Depp, and this... This is a lot. I was, uh, thinking about taking a break for a while. Maybe doing smaller stuff after last season. You know? And now I'm here in the Caribbean working on a movie that millions of people are going to see. It's kind of freaking me out.”

“You picked the wrong profession if you hate people watching you.”

“Everything could change, Jared. Don't you get that?”

Jensen's staring at him now, his gaze all wide and voice too melancholy. Jared straightens, saying, "We'll always have Paris. Or… wherever we are, right now. We'll always have the island."

He feels Jensen sigh irritably, rolling his shoulder to push Jared off. It doesn't work, because it only makes Jared move closer. "Whatever."

"Hey—"

"No, no, forget it. Let's talk about how you want Johnny making you his bitch."

Jared grins, putting his head on Jensen's shoulder. "You think if I make nice he'll take me to third base on prom night?"

Jensen clears his throat, shoulder tensing. "I think his girlfriend would make you both her bitches instead."

Jared shrugs. "I'd look good in a collar."

They stay quiet for a minute, watching everyone talking and carousing by the campfire. For all the long hours that they've been putting in, it's nice to see people take a break for a while—cast and crew members alike talking, singing. Having fun. Overhead, the sky seems to be clearing up and those in charge are giving orders to start loading up the equipment.

Jensen starts to get up but Jared's tugging on his sleeve, still slightly out of it, but not enough that he'd let him get away easily. "Hey, you know… Whatever happens, I'll stick around, all right? Even if you turn into some hot shit movie star, someone's gotta be there to remind you that you're still one of the little people."

He feels all woozy when he stands abruptly, but Jensen's head makes a good little hand rest. Jared pats Jensen's head, carding his fingers through his hair quickly. "Emphasis on _little_ people."

It's not fair how easy little people can tackle Jared's calves and bring him down in a spray of sand and giggles, but then again, Jensen's always been a sneaky bastard.

 

—

By the time they get back to the hotel, it's one in the morning; the carpet under Jared's shoes feels good enough to sleep on at this point. But he misses the floor and falls on a bed instead, not _his_ bed, someone else's, Jensen's, _Jensen's_ bed with his cigarette smoke and aftershave scent buried in the mound of discarded clothing. In the sheets, it feels like, even if they've been changed daily—the scent of him is everywhere, the touch and rasp of his beard, too.

Soft blur of shadows are in Jared's vision, Jensen's hand looming over his face, _whaps_ him, "my bed," and shit, he's on Jensen's bed—

Two hours later, the bed dips, void of cold air as Jensen leaves.


	2. Chapter 2

Today, Jensen isn't scheduled to shoot.

Instead, he's scheduled for a meeting in the production office, one that he shows up early, without Jared's hungover self. Jared feels a pang of guilt when he gets in, moving past the desks and chairs, all the charts, Post-Its, and photographs taped to the walls. Verbinski's office is just as hectic as the main area, maps and photos tacked in a slapdash way to the walls. The screenwriters, Elliot and Rossio are there, grinning as they wave their hands and talk about _this new scene_. It's too much movement for nine in the fucking A.M. for Jared. Verbinski smiles and taps a beat on the desk with a pencil. Even off set, the man is restless, joining in the discussion as he shuffles through his papers, trying to keep up a semblance of neatness on the desk.

In the middle of all this is Jensen, sunglasses on the tip of his nose. He tilts his head a little in Jared's direction and after a few hellos, they steamroll on. They're talking about expanding Jensen's part, more scenes with him—that they will work it all out. Jensen only smiles.

Jared's almost lost when it comes to the conversation, staring at Jensen's knee and that spot that Jensen picks at with a nail, unconscious of it as he talks. At some point between a discussion about another big sea monster—the Kraken or the friggin' Loch Ness Monster, even—Jared's cell phone vibrates. He excuses himself to go out to the office balcony.

Three floors up but the office has a great view, overlooking the street and grassy hill below.

"Hey assface," Jared says lightly, hand over his free ear to muffle the wind. "What's up?"

"Fuck you, you shit. You don't call, you don't write—"

"Chad—"

And then Chad goes off on some rant about a made-for-TV Christmas movie he's doing, getting in a couple of _Kinkade_ digs whenever he can. It makes Jared loosen up, one hand gripping the balcony railing, picking at the paint chips that flick off under his palm. Still too fucking early, but Chad's a reminder of the outside world, in a way, the kind of good reminder of normalcy after all of this. One that doesn't have him nervous at the changing times ahead, because whatever happens, Chad will still be himself.

Chad will still be crowing over long distance on Jared's cell, and then ask about how Jensen's doing.

"'Cause you're gonna tell me in a minute anyway," Chad says when Jared asks him to explain. Chad pauses, the sound of keys and a door locking closed. "Fuck. The car's hot. Should've left the windows open. Okay, man, how is he? And you?"

"I'm fine. He's fine. We're all… fine," Jared answers, looking over in Jensen's direction.

He can see him through the glass and curtains, watch him lean a cheek against his palm and smile, nodding at what the other guys are saying. Jared can't hear them right now.

Jensen glances in Jared's direction, looking straight at him before he angles his body away.

 

—

A bigger role means that the days get longer and the work gets harder as the shoot relocates to Puerto Rico for a number of shorefront scenes, all exterior shots of the El Morro fort. The monument is bathed in the afternoon sun with soldiers and pirates running along its floors and battlements like little ants in the distance. They are scenes that Jared will remember for their beauty as much as for what a pain in the ass they were to arrange with dozens of costumed extras.

They whisk Jensen off into different scenes—departments, meetings, and Jared follows if he can, but he barely gets any time with him other than mornings for two or three days.

By that Thursday, there's bad weather and multiple takes. Everyone's at the end of their rope, and the production assistants are red faced and sweaty, tired from running around. Jared tries to offer a pat on the shoulder or a side hug whenever he can, because peg leg and pirate jokes only go so far to boost up morale. He's not in the scenes they're filming, so he feels a little weird relating stories about the past—jokes or people he's met, usually with Jensen around. Jensen isn't here to pipe in with a comment, or finish a sentence—he's away across the waves, and Jared's jokes fall a little flat. But he's trying and soon enough, he's getting smiles, just when there's a whistle at the docks. The ships are coming back in.

He feels a little awkward, too tall and nervous, shifting his weight to either foot as the boats slow down and slide up to the port. Jensen's laughing at something Geoffrey's telling him, lewd hand gestures indicate a story Jared's heard before with one too many sips of tequila as an accompaniment. Wiping his hair out of his eyes, he grins, perfect white teeth and grime on his face showing that ironic Hollywood kind of fakeness period piece movies have.

Turns his head and then he's staring Jared right in the eye, smiling, waving.

And Jared's just looking into his face, and it _hits_ him. That he's in love with Jensen.

The thing is, the feeling is not that sudden. It's not the knock him head over heels, _yes_ , that moment Jared was hoping for: the exact, crystal clear, corny moment when he _knows_ just what the hell he's doing, that everything is going to be okay and that he's going to get the response he wants in return. Instead, it's slower and unsure, this gradual acceptance of how, hey, he's totally fucked over and yeah, _yeah_ , maybe he's in love or lust or god knows _what_ with his co-star.

It hits Jared now that this is going to happen.

It has him staring out into space for a few seconds, the slight blur of Jensen's face from far away coming into sharp focus when he walks up.

"I don't have to film for the next three days," Jensen says.

This is going to happen. It's going to happen if Jared can wipe that fake smile that comes up, that has Jensen raising an eyebrow at this burst of giddiness Jared feels, at how his laugh comes out strained.

Jared clears his throat. "Well, you should show me around Puerto Rico."

He worries his lip a little, waving a palm out at the yellow grey cliffs, the stone walls of El Morro and the flags flapping in the breeze.

"Okay then," Jensen says, and it's as easy as that.

 

—

Jared trips over the tiny cobblestone streets for the fourth time, thinking this is a crappy idea. It should be easy for them to do the tourist thing, only they have gotten into two fights by noon. They fought over stupid stuff like _directions_ and _needing to eat_ , and _whatever_. Jared's totally good at this.

"We're lost," Jensen tells him, shoving his hands into his jean pockets. He's wearing a faded old tee, fabric stretched tight around his biceps. "We lost a goddamn fort, Jared."

"Shut up," Jared attempts to say over the car horn beeping at him for wandering in the middle of the narrow street. Jensen's hand pushes on the small of his back, nudging Jared out of the way of the scant oncoming traffic. A few yards down there are people on the sidewalks, chatting, shopping. There are warm breezes and the tinkling of wind chimes in the background, a comfort that envelops Jared as he tries to focus on the wallet-sized laminated map Jensen's holding.

"You're the tallest thing around here for miles," Jensen says. "No forts."

"I—hey, _we_ just saw it!"

"Don't look at me, man, I was too busy _acting_ ," Jensen says, emphasis on the _act_ , light and airy tone as he lifts his head up, looking down his nose at Jared.

It makes Jared laugh, an image that keeps him happy when they are wandering through the fort a half-hour later, Jared sated with a bottle of water and an empanada from one of the small restaurants a few blocks down. Cobblestone, narrow corridors and rounded arches open up to large expanses of stone. Jensen insists on taking _perfect_ photos, one or two step shimmy to get just the right angle, whereas Jared simply does the point and click approach.

"Dude. A cannon ball mountain. I'm gonna climb it."

"Because you're five," Jensen whispers, trying to get a shot of one of the _garitas_ , the watchtowers and most recognizable parts of the entire fort.

"Why are you whispering?" Jared asks, the few groups of people here and there making him feel less of a jerk for blurting it loudly. Everyone is too caught up in looking up at the different levels, stone corroded by time. A few days ago, there had been extras in period wear standing at the ready, shooting cannons and guns. Now the fort is empty and with no one the wiser. Instead, the visitors are all reading the brochures and maps, thinking about the soldiers stationed at here decades before.

Jared looks over at Jensen and nothing else.

"You aren't allowed up there," Jensen says, his face covered by the chunky black camera and lens he's holding, pointing it out at the horizon. He's turned away from Jared but he still scowls when Jared climbs up two rows and sits his ass right down on one of the old cannon balls, crossing his legs at the ankles.

Jared 's throat feels tight at the sight of Jensen turned away again. He feels a little lonely all of a sudden.

So. Only thing to do is plant his feet down and say, " _Charlie_."

"Oh, God."

"It's Cannonball Mountain, Charlie!"

Jensen can't grab him fast enough; a smile breaks through his angry scowl as Jared yelps, skipping away towards the edge and low walls. He laughs as Jensen skids to a stop right next to him, a little breathless, open mouthed. It's the first sight of Jensen in an hour without that camera in front of his face, without his head dipped low. Taking in the sights, not just behind a lens.

He cants his head, and lifts the camera. Click. One shot, without any long pauses or stretch of time that would make Jared impatient.

After a few seconds, Jared moves closer to sling an arm around Jensen's shoulder. "Let me see."

Jensen's grip on the camera is a little stiff, but Jared catches himself in the screen: sunlight on his hair, mouth open wide and laughing, eyes pinched from the force of it, and the long lines of blue water and grey stone behind him. It isn't that kind of quick shot where he looks too shiny or stupid, all grinning and his nose all _weird_ —like some candid at a party, that drunken sheen on his face.

"It's amazing," he says, a little surprised at how low his voice gets.

Clearing his throat, Jensen nods, thumbing the buttons to the shoot setting. "It's a well composed shot—the wall, there, and how the sky meets it—"

He goes on with a bunch of photography babble that Jared understands but he tunes out, butterflies in Jared's stomach that leaves him feeling anxious as Jensen walks past.

 

—

The cool ocean breeze ruffles Jared's hair, making it blow into his eyes as he settles across from Jensen. Their table is right near the water, a railing separating them from the cliff and rocky beach front below. Tourists and locals alike are talking over their food and drinks, the smells and snatches of conversation carrying on the breeze and making something twist in Jared's gut: not only hunger but a brief sense of longing.

He had made enough friends out of the cast and crew—and there is always Jensen, _always_ —but for a minute, he feels bad he hasn't called back home for a few days, to check up on things. Back up in Vancouver, he's always calling when he has time, but now it's like his mind is occupied, attuned to something else entirely.

Jensen shifts his weight in his chair, knee probably still aching from that bruise he picked up a few days before, during one of the ship deck fights.

The table is small and tight against Jared's waist, chairs a little higher than normal, making him grip the surface with a forearm and lean forward to look over and past the railing.

Jensen puts his beer bottle down before he flicks some droplets in Jared's face.

Grunting, Jared rocks back. Jensen looks like he's going to speak, then hesitates.

"What?"

Jensen shrugs. "Your hair must be driving you crazy. Don't you have a hair tie or something?"

His eyes are crinkling at the corners, sunglasses low on his nose. Jared hooks a finger under the edge and swipes the sunglasses off Jensen's face, pushing his hair back as they slip right on his head.

"I have a headband now," he states, resists the urge to laugh at Jensen's sudden squint, no caked on movie makeup or fake dirt to cover the streak of freckles on Jensen's nose and cheekbones, the sunburn fading against the dark cluster of freckles. "You're starting to look like a Cheetah there."

Jensen scowls, self-consciously rubbing a hand over his nose. "Shut up."

"Too bad you left your pink Ray Bans are home," Jared adds, picking at the edge of his beer bottle label with a fingernail.

"I don't have… pink Ray Bans," Jensen grumbles. "Those were someone else's."

"They just wound up in your suitcase?"

"Hey, you were in a rush to see Puerto Rico," Jensen points out. "I wasn't paying attention when I was getting stuff out of my closet."

He sits back and downs the rest of his beer as Jared watches his throat work out of the corner of his eye.

"So," Jared says, trying to keep that slow lilt of curiosity out of his voice, trying to make the rest of this seem like an ordinary question. But it fails when he goes on to say, "Do the mysterious sunglasses belong to… someone you're hanging out with? Jensen, are you getting laid?"

He punctuates it with a wide grin. It's not just a playful question, but it's something he almost desperately needs to know. Pretty soon, the waiter is going to come back with food, and there won't be any time: eating, talking shop, and joking around. The chance to lay out truths on the table will be gone.

"Man, I hate that smile of yours. It's evil," Jensen says, smiling. Warmth flares through Jared, almost enough to distract himself from pressing further, but the waiter distracts him instead, bringing them heaping plates of steak mofungo.

 

—

When it comes to the last scenes Jared and Jensen shoot on the film, they film at the studio on the island, blue screen bright and flat through the holes and crevices of the dark cave set. An overabundance of glitter coats the set—on the nooks and crannies of painted, rocky Styrofoam, on the gold, the water, the actors' _faces_ , too. Johnny's nose keeps twitching, fingers flicking the tip. It's less of a Sparrow affectation than it is all the fucking _glitter_ everywhere, Jensen grumbles later, eyes rolling up as the makeup artist brush powder onto his cheeks.

All Jared has to say is a comment about dazzling and Jensen elbows him, _hard_. Jared rubs his drowned zombie shoulder, skin painted blue green under the tears in his shirt.

To Jensen's credit, later on when Jared falls off camera with a whoop of exaggerated, girlish surprise, he doesn't break character. He's all steely jawed and soldiering on, no tears in his eyes for his— _Antonio's_ —fallen lieutenant.

Jared watches the rest of the scene play out once he slides off the blue mattresses, getting to his feet and resisting the urge to poke at the fake bloody wound on his belly.

After that, Jared has a crappy photo taken where his hair is wet and his skin is nearly blue. Jensen stands next to him, his face caked in fake dirt and blood. But he looks directly at Jared in the picture, full force of his bright smile and eyes the kind of thing that makes Jared a little awkward and a little scared.

—

Johnny's wrap party that weekend is a less glittery affair, shorts, polos, tank tops, and sunglasses everywhere, tequila and rum pouring freely among many tanned faces. The cruise ship Johnny's rented for the party is decently sized—tinted glass, two floors, wooden dance floor and a freaking _disco_ ball to top it off.

The atmosphere is loose, easy, some old Jefferson Airplane song playing in the background, people talking in small groups here and there.

The table Jared sits at is empty, save for all the purses, bags, other items dumped to the side so their owners could be free to talk and dance. Jared stares at one weird short fur jacket, wondering where it came from. The temperature outside is boiling and he thinks it's somehow wrong to wear a coat with the furry little head still attached. Personally, he would be too afraid that the thing would come alive in the middle of the night and try to gnaw his face off.

Jared thinks he would be better off resting than getting drunk, as the long hours for the past two nights have made him tired and achy bone-deep.

He probably shouldn't be mixing drinks, either, but at least he's doing the wallflower routine pretty well, running a finger along the wet edge of his glass.

Twenty, thirty feet away—loud rock _thump_ of music has his temples pulsing, everything a little shiny, blurry—Jensen is holding court with a couple of girls in costuming, shouting over the din to Geoffrey across the room. Jensen grins, trim lines of his beard accent the laugh lines around his mouth, peering down at the girls next to him.

"Jared," says a voice, low, surprise that has him jerk a little. Johnny claps a hand on Jared's shoulder before he grabs a chair and turns it backwards, sitting on it. His knees are dark and tanned underneath the ripped denim, jingle jangle of his bracelets and keys against his thigh.

"Hey."

"Hey." Jared takes another sip of his drink, tart and fruity on his tongue. He doesn't remember when he got it, though there is a fuzzy image of Geoffrey in his mind, the sly fucker, handing the drink over. "Great party."

Johnny nods, cigarillo between two fingers. "Yeah."

Normally, Jared would be a little too excited, eager to talk to Johnny. Fuck that, he would be like a _fan_ , words coming out a mile a minute before his mind can catch up. Johnny would laugh, all calm and cool. Except enough time has passed that Jared doesn't do that; he's a little drunk and melancholy, not having enough energy to flip his shit when Johnny comes by.

"You having fun over here?" Johnny asks, rubbing at a spot on his temple.

Jared slinks back in his seat. "Yep. I like the disco ball."

"Yeah. Think they're gonna do the Hustle at this rate."

A grin slides easy on Jared's face, as he scans the crow for Jensen. He sees a peek of white shirt and blue denim between the dark purple shadows of bodies dancing, a flash of Jensen's smiling face.

Jensen staring right at him like he's been waiting the whole night.

"There's your chance," Johnny says softly. He taps Jared on the arm, wave of his hand that seems to part the slowing down of time, the fuzziness, everything thrown into sharp relief, _fast_ and lively where Jensen is.

"It's between songs," Johnny adds, by way of explanation, though the smirk to his mouth signifies something else.

Jared knows, somehow, one day, maybe even years down the line, he will jump up and down, screaming like a little girl, shrieking that _oh my god, Johnny Depp gave me relationship advice_. Thanks to the alcohol, Jared is not doing that right now.

Instead, Jared is up and out of his seat, long strides through the crowd, reaching Jensen's side. Jensen looks up at him, grinning brightly. "Jared!"

This is the point where Jared's body is thrumming with alcohol, with adrenaline, with _tension_ that should drive him into action. But when he gets here, his mind's a blank, because he hasn't exactly thought this through. He's a shitty dancer and thinks Jensen would be insulted by Jared sweeping him off his feet anyway, in any capacity. Jared gets elbowed in the side by a passing couple and he steps forward, right on Jensen's foot. He grimaces and his lips barely brush Jensen's earlobe, whispering his apology.

"Shit—Hey, I'll—I'll get you a drink," Jared murmurs, pulling back to make a hasty retreat. Jensen calls out something behind him but it's lost with the noise.

 

—

He'd managed to avoid Jensen for the rest of the party, discovering new parts of the ship and accidentally stumbling into a few couples using quiet corners for their own fun time, clothing mostly optional.

Jared has never been more thankful when the boat finally docks. The land is so welcomed that Jared considers kissing the ground.

The pavement curves downhill to their parking space and the momentum makes Jared rush forward. Getting another drink and detouring from confronting Jensen turns out to be the last straw for Jared's sobriety: his limbs feel wobbly and his heart's beating too fast, Jensen helping him outside certainly not helping matters. Jensen splays his fingers out wide, palm over Jared's chest, saying, "Think you had too much to drink there, buddy."

Jared can only manage a grunt. Jensen nods, continuing, "Celebrating the end of a beautiful partnership—you being my assistant, that is."

"You can't fire me," Jared tells him. "I was gonna quit."

It's breezy enough that he shivers when Jensen's thumb brushes his collarbone, stopping him from tipping forward. Canting his head, he can see Jensen looking at him, a mix of concern and amusement in his eyes.

Jensen shakes his head. "I pushed you too hard?"

"Nah." Jared arches his back against the SUV side door as Jensen comes up behind him. Everything's a little unsteady and his heart's beating fast, but Jensen's there. Ready to catch him. It fills him with a sense of relief, even as he tenses, saying in a rush, "Can't fall in love with the boss."

The heat of Jensen's palm disappears, and Jensen stops short next to him, lips tightly closed. He looks like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, blurry movement in Jared's vision when he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Jared—"

"I had this all planned out, you know. Knocking you off your feet and everything."

"What changed?" Jensen's voice sounds small.

Jared shrugs. "Got cold feet. Besides, you're too heavy."

"Nice," Jensen mutters. For a moment, it's like everything's back to normal as his nose scrunches, cranky expression. "You mind givin' me the keys, dicksmack?"

Jared groans and starts fishing the keys out of his jean pockets. Jensen clears his throat, fingertips skimming Jared's hand, the cuff of his watch. He hesitates and then clamps his fingers around Jared's wrist, his forearm, pulling him close and kissing him with a wet smack.

The angle is all wrong; Jared's hair gets caught between Jensen's lips, teeth scraping his chin before he course-corrects, capturing his mouth. Jared moans softly and leans into Jensen, face rubbing against his cheek, slowly pushing against him.

His breath hitches and it's not the alcohol—this goes beyond a drink, beyond laughing it off in the morning. Jensen seems to notice the fact as he's guiding Jared to the passenger seat, shoving him off as the SUV roars to life.

But he doesn't shy away when Jared rests his shoulder and hand against Jensen's side during the ride back to the hotel.

 

—

The last thing Jared remembers about the night before is water and the coldness in his belly. Images swirl together in his head, the hot steam of the shower adds to Jared's fogginess. The pressure eases an ache in his lower back as he leans against the tile. Somehow, they got back to the hotel—the memory is all touch at that part: how Jensen helped him to bed, how his hand felt cool against Jared's neck when he gave him a glass of water to drink.

They hadn't done anything, Jared knows. And he's glad. He sort of wants the shower to swallow him up right now, annoyed at the way he'd acted.

But he still remembers the heat of Jensen's mouth.

The shower offers little comfort so Jared goes to get dressed. His own bed is messy while Jensen's has the sheets pulled up, suitcases laid out, zipped shut. Already packed and ready to go.

He taps a rhythm on his jeans, flipping through the TV channels. Jared's seriously considering playing with the Nintendo GameCube they've got in the hotel room when the door opens and Jensen comes in.

"Hey," Jensen says. He pulls off his sunglasses and puts them with a bag of bagels on a side table. "You good?"

 _Are we good?_ , Jared wants to say. He quirks an eyebrow, ready to talk when Jensen starts pulling out the bagels like it's just another ordinary morning. Maybe a later call time before they're being picked up to set. Only it isn't: the film's wrapped up and they'll be leaving in a day. Jared's not sure if he can last that long—and even then, he's not sure he can sit on a plane for a few hours next to Jensen.

Jared swallows. "About last night, that… are you buttering up a bagel for me?"

"Nah. Cream cheese. It's good that you have an appetite after you spent last night trying to wipe out the island's rum supply. That's a losing battle."

Jared smiles up at Jensen when he gets tossed a bagel, licking his lips as Jensen comes by to sit on the edge of the bed, glancing at the TV. Some morning talk show is playing, a low buzz of friendly chatter that gets on Jared's nerves. He pauses and lowers the volume saying, "I got carried away, man, I'm sorry. That was—"

"Cool."

"—nothing?" He feels his voice getting pitchy at the end of it. "What?"

Jensen looks like a deer in headlights. He opens and closes his mouth, demurring. "I-I'm just saying that it was cool, like, it's cool. It doesn't have to mean anything, right?"

Jared rubs his face. "Yeah—No, no! It has to mean something."

"Jared—"

"You brought me breakfast! In bed! You don't do that!"

" _You_ do that!" Jensen points an accusing finger.

Jared rolls his eyes. "That's 'cause I'm your assistant. I get paid to do that shit."

Jensen sighs, but he's shifting his weight and moving closer to Jared. Their thighs touch. Jensen's knee purposely knocks into Jared's, head ducking away so Jared can't see the expression on his face. "Last night, you told me you quit."

"Yeah, well, I said a lot of shit last night. Doesn't mean—"

"Do you want it to mean something?"

Jared closes his eyes, everything else—the TV on in the background, the breakfast—long forgotten. There's only Jensen and his cigarette scent, his dirty fingernails that Jared looks at when he opens his eyes, staring right at him, inches away.

"Do you want _us_ to mean—" Jensen starts to say, but the words are clipped and muffled when Jared presses his mouth against Jensen's, fast press that lingers. His tongue runs along Jensen's lip, pushing gently inwards, darting in. He tastes like cigarettes still, but Jared's too busy reeling from Jensen's mouth, the very _act_ of it against his own, and oh yeah, he might've been the one to incite this so it shouldn't be such a shock yet it _is_.

The kisses that follow are long and slow, barest brush of lips as they lean their foreheads together. They take in hurried, shaky breaths between kisses, pauses where they rest, and where Jared's mind is darting here and there, erratic until it slows with Jensen's palm against his waist, with his other hand in Jared's hair.

He says, "finally," in the middle of it, making it too soft for Jensen to hear.

But then his fingers jerk tighter in Jared's hair and he smiles against Jared's mouth, so Jared figures Jensen got the message, one way or another.

The fall backwards on the bed is so easy Jared wonders if they'd practiced it before. There's no stumbling, no awkwardness, only the smooth coordination of arms and legs. Jared can't help himself, wanting to find some little spot that gets Jensen gasping in his mouth, his hands traveling lower.

Jensen's right hand is tucked between Jared's head and the pillow, and he navigates a new angle as they kiss. He keeps pulling Jared in closer, making Jared incoherent, his senses overloaded—and he thinks he might be humping Jensen's leg a little, but it's hard to keep track when Jensen's _doing_ this. He's biting down on Jared's bottom lip, tongue running a crooked path on the captured lip.

The sound of Jensen's breath goes uneven as Jared's working a hand underneath his shirt. Finally, _finally_ Jared is getting to touch those muscles he's spent too much time watching and no time at all touching. He has to make up for the lost time, his hand wandering everywhere, pushing away where his skin's ticklish, lingering when Jensen leans into Jared's touch .

"You, uh," Jared tries to focus his thoughts, tries to be coherent when his mind's set on where this is all going, "You up for—"

"Interesting choice of words."

"Oh, shut up."

Jensen's mouth is puffy, making his smirk look ridiculous. "Make me."

 

—

The thing about finally hooking up with your co-star is the endless amount of stupid confessions that follow. 'Confessions' not being the right word, because they are more like those 'remember that one time…' stories, only they don't involve BB guns and parts of Chad Michael Murray's anatomy. 'That one time' becomes, "yeah, that time we started to live together? I tried not to jump you in the middle of a night. You scream like a girl." Or, "that time when I joked that I wanted you to 'buckle my swash' on set, I actually wanted to suck your dick."

Two weeks later the joke has gotten old, enough that Jared opens the fridge and exclaims, "Hey, remember that one time we were supposed to have sex and you had a fucking plane to catch?"

Jensen pulls off his jacket. "Don't look at me. I wasn't the one who scheduled the flight. And the blowjob made up for it."

"Don't be smug, Jensen. Nobody like a smug know-it-all."

"Dude, you texted me 'thank you' three times. I think I can be smug for the next decade."

The fridge is mostly empty when Jared peers into it, not trusting the carton of OJ there. He'd meant to have someone come and check on it, but his dogs were the top priority when it came to leaving the house for a while, not food, or cleaning. But now the whole house feels large and brand new, echoing with the new implication of them living there together. Not only roommates anymore.

The whole situation gets more complicated when there's a film wrapping, there's flights, catching up with publicists, agents, family, and friends. All in exactly that order. They'd just gotten back from a club, the lingering green haze behind Jared's eyelids from all the flashes going off now Jensen's getting notice because of the upcoming film.

"Yeah, I'm reeling in the magazine covers," Jensen had said dryly, then proceeded to flick his thumb over the head of Jared's dick, slow pulls underneath the table at the booth they'd sat at.

But now, they're alone and there's no backpedalling. When Jared closes the fridge door, that's when Jensen makes his move. He's pushing him back into the cool metal, his hands settling on Jared's narrow hips. Jared thinks Jensen really likes to touch his hips—well, likes to touch any part of him, but he's always settling on his hips and legs, thumbs rubbing tiny circles that make Jared a little incoherent as Jensen bumps up against him. "You want to?"

Jared might be tired—and hell, he knows Jensen has to be, after that crazy schedule—but quick blowjobs or handjobs aren't cutting it. They've got time now.

Kissing Jensen, Jared pushes back, creating enough space to maneuver back out of the kitchen. Jensen gets the hint, following his path. "C'mere."

Jensen just smirks. He still hasn't shaved the beard off, something that almost sends Jared off the edge when he rubs his mouth and cheek against Jared's neck, a brief pause as they make their way to Jensen's bedroom. Jensen is the one getting pushed up against the wall as Jared strokes him through his jeans, murmuring promises of everything they need to do, now, right now.

"Bed. We need to get—"

"Yeah."

Shoes and shirts get yanked off before they climb onto the bed. A laugh tears out of Jared, a little nervous and fond as he sees Jensen stretching awkwardly to take off his socks. He pulls off his own socks with his legs high in the air, and then brings them down in a crash, mattress bouncing them both.

"Fuck," Jensen grumbles. "I'm gonna get you for that."

His mouth is very close to Jared's, and the threat is something Jared welcomes as he says, "I'd like to see you try."

Jensen twists around and gets his leg over Jared's, pining him as he unzips Jared's belt. Jared is all revved up with the feel of Jensen's beard scraping across his stomach as Jensen makes a trail down. But he isn't touching him, not yet, and Jared can barely _talk_. "We're really going to—"

Jensen's answering by flicking his tongue at Jared, a warm fist sliding down Jared's cock. They're _definitely_ doing this.

Jensen moves lower, licking the palm of his hand when the pre-come isn't slick enough. His strokes start easy, lazy jerks that he's learned Jared enjoys way too much. Then Jensen is letting go, tongue licking right up Jared's dick, mouth closing over the head, his tongue a light pressure at the tip. He's getting a kick out of playing—well, technically, fucking with—Jared, trying to see how little it takes to drive him wild.

It doesn't take too much—not when Jared just has to look down as see Jensen there, watching as he works Jared's jeans down his legs. And all the while, he's still stroking Jared, still sucking him off with those reddened and shiny lips. Still doing the most amazing things to Jared's cock, hand massaging his balls. Jared's head lolls back and he smacks the headboard before he looks down again, biting his lip.

Jared moans when Jensen's face brushes against his thigh, feeling the wonderful rough scrape of beard.

Then a minute or two later, Jared is reminded again of how much more there is to do, with Jensen stopping and moving off the bed to pull off the rest of his clothes. Jensen is impatient, shoving his pants and boxers down, and every second he takes leaves Jared hard and almost aching. Jensen kicks away his pants on the floor, before he's rifling through the bedside table, unceremoniously pulling out a bottle of lube.

Jensen doesn't have to say it but he does anyway. He's making sure, holding Jared's gaze. "You want to do this?"

"Yeah. I want this." Yanking off his jeans and sitting up, Jared stretches up to kiss Jensen. He lingers, sucking on Jensen's bottom lip. "Let's do this."

Jensen lubes up his fingers, moving back down as he's pulling Jared's legs up, encouraging him to lie back. He's sucking off Jared soon enough, pressing a finger further down. The pressure is light, one that he tries to match to the rhythm of tongue along the underside of Jared's dick. Jensen presses in one finger slow, tortuously slow, before he has two fingers slipping inside Jared's ass. He stretches Jared open at first and then starts stroking Jared's prostate.

Jared feels himself jerk, these _noises_ coming out, groaning " _God_ ," and " _more_ " feeling it building up and there's no way to stave it off, to push it down.

Jensen's smirking again, biting his lip, It's a thing he does that makes Jared want to beat the crap out of him, but not before kissing him senseless—a double edged expression of sarcasm. Only Jensen's too far away to kiss and Jared's too close to coming and nowhere _near_ getting fucked. Jared thinks he's in love with an evil, evil man.

"You cool with me popping your ass cherry instead of Johnny?"

"Damn it, Jensen," Jared grouses. "Stop fucking around and fuck me."

"Pushy, pushy," Jensen mumbles, each syllable pressed against the length of Jared's dick. Jared would snap at him in return, but Jensen's doing something wonderful to his ass now, tonguing the entrance. His grip on Jared's ass is firm as he spreads his cheeks apart, the top of his head barely visible—and if Jared can keep getting Jensen to do this, then he won't mind not looking at Jensen's face for a while. Or for fucking _ever_ , because he could pretty much settle in now for the long haul.

Only Jared is already tipping over the edge, groaning as he shoots his load, thick spurts across his belly. Jensen surfaces and bends over Jared's stomach, licking a thick path that sends a little shiver down Jared's spine. Jensen looks down at him, thumb swiping the come clinging to the corner of Jensen's mouth.

That, there, proves the point that he couldn't hold out on not seeing Jensen's face—even if this whole thing had gone down the wrong way like Jared expected, Jared doesn't want to _think_ about what could have happened because this is happening. It's still happening.

Jared's still panting, reeling, as Jensen's pulling back, the warmth of his body leaving as he moves to get the condom. For a split second, Jared thinks he's spent, but when Jensen moves, just for a moment, his muscles and body are taut, leaning forward. Needing. He's impatient, almost laughing as he presses his mouth against Jensen's throat, sucking a kiss into Jensen's skin. Jensen protests, fumbling as he rolls the condom on.

There's no rush here as Jensen's dick nudges Jared's entrance, and he grunts, tensing. Jensen returns with newly lubed fingers, opening up Jared before he shakes his head. "Hand me that pillow."

Jared gasps, his voice straining. "What?"

"It'll feel better," Jensen murmurs, shoving it under Jared's lower back.

His legs wrap around Jensen's waist as Jensen slowly pushes in, stilling when Jared tells him to, waiting for the burning stretch to subside a little. When he's ready Jared can only nod, his eyes closing shut when Jensen starts a slow rhythm of thrusts. Jared's hips roll up into Jensen, and he pulls him tighter, grips the back of his neck and pulls him closer, down, _closer_ , _in_. His dick rubs against Jensen's belly as he feels Jensen's thrusts speed up, groaning from the faint aftershocks of his orgasm. Jensen is broad and arching over Jared, all encompassing, keeping a firm grip on Jared, anchoring him.

Jensen's jaw clenches before he's coming, moaning as his body goes slack, eyelids fluttering closed. He pulls out of Jared and lies next to him with a sigh, arching up against the curve of Jared's side. Jensen nuzzles the hollow of Jared's throat, licking his lips.

"You okay?"

"I'm good. Glad you're so gay for me, too," Jared adds, leaning on an elbow, wincing a little at the new aches inside of him. He watches Jensen tie off the condom and throw it in the trash. Jensen's grinning at him when he comes back up, off-balance as he leans over to slap Jared on his ass. It's too hard and if it were any other time, Jared would complain, but Jensen settles next to him again, fingers twining in his hair.

"Yeah, same here," he says, pressing a kiss against Jared's head.

 

—

The following May is fucking _surreal_. Jared can't decide if walking down a red carpet at Disneyland is weirder than sitting next to Jensen at the _Teen Choice Awards_ , watching his face up on the screen for _Choice Male Hottie_. The man's over thirty. Jared's pretty sure this thing might be rigged. Because no way is Jensen hotter than him, and Jared was covered in _drowned_ makeup.

Reviews for the _Pirates_ film have come in, most surprisingly positive. Jared isn't deluded enough to put the cause squarely on Jensen's shoulders—the man's good, but hey, even he'd admit he's no Johnny—but he's certain that Jensen might've helped. The screams and myriad of posters and photos shoved their way during the long walk down the red carpet are excellent proof that Jensen did a good job.

"You can thank me if you want," Jared tells him, leaning back in his seat. "Just don't be embarrassing. Thank your mama first."

"Oh yeah, I learned from the master," Jensen says with a laugh. He picks at Jared's wristband, grinning when Jared pulls his hand away, trying not to get tickled.

"Hey, I do what I can. I don't have much to work with."

Jensen nods, suddenly quiet as the announcer's voice comes up. It's strange how Jared sits all rigid, butterflies in his stomach like this is a big deal. There's no mile long red carpet premiere here, or famous co-stars hugging their shoulders as the lights dim. It's just him and Jensen, showing up for an award that'll get Jensen some publicity. So it really isn't a big deal at all.

But when Jensen wins and he slings an arm around Jared, whispers, "thank you" in his ear, it is a big deal. And Jared's fine with that.

 

* * *

  


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